


Downton Abbey: The Next Generation

by dustnik



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:53:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23764912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustnik/pseuds/dustnik
Summary: Set in 1944. The lives and loves of Downton Abbey’s grown children during the last year of World War II.
Relationships: Caroline Talbot/Johnny Bates, Sybbie Branson/OC
Comments: 20
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In this story, most of the older characters have already died. Downton Abbey now belongs to George Crawley, the eighth Earl of Grantham, who is away at the war. The house’s other inhabitants are Mary and Henry Talbot, their daughter, Caroline, and Sybbie Branson. Edith, Bertie, their son, Peter, and Marigold remain at Brancaster Castle, while Tom and Lucy Branson live on the Brompton Estate with their brood. The Bateses own the Grantham Arms. Andy Parker has taken over the tenancy of Yew Tree Farm, while his wife, Daisy, is the head cook at the Abbey. Mr. Barrow retains his position as the butler.
> 
> According to the Downton Abbey Wiki, these are the birthdates of the younger characters and their approximate ages at the beginning of the story:  
>  **Sybbie Branson:** born April–August 1920—age 23/24  
>  **George Crawley:** born September 1921—age 22  
>  **Marigold Crawley:** born December 1922–January, 1923—age 21  
>  **Johnny Bates:** born December 31, 1925—age 18  
>  **Caroline Talbot:** born 1926—age 17  
>  **“Peter” Pelham:** born March 1928—age 16  
>  **Charlie Bryant:** born early to mid-1918—age 25/26

Thomas Barrow looked up from his breakfast to survey his staff, much like a general inspecting his troops. Gone were the days when the line of servants extended the length of the long wooden table. Valets and lady’s maids, underbutlers and footmen had been relegated to the past along with corsets, top hats, and horse-drawn carriages. The junior staff now consisted of an ever-changing trio of housemaids whose names Thomas never bothered to learn, a kitchen maid, and a pair of hallboys too young for the conscription. They all lived in the village. On his right sat the new housekeeper, Mrs. Fry, a nondescript, middle-aged woman who seemed oddly discomfited by the butler. To his left was Daisy Parker, the only other holdover from the old days. She was the head cook now, having taken over the position upon Mrs. Patmore’s death years earlier.

Thomas rose, signaling the beginning of the workday. “I’d like to remind you all that Lord and Lady Hexham are expected today by tea time. I want everything ready for their arrival.”

“Of course, Mr. Barrow,” Mrs. Fry agreed quickly. “We’ll make up the bedrooms straight away.” She signaled to the maids, and they hurried upstairs.

Mrs. Parker and her assistant returned to the kitchen to prepare the breakfast items for the family which were then conveyed upstairs by the hallboys. Barrow took his usual place by the sideboard where he’d stood nearly every morning since his promotion to butler eighteen years ago.

As if on cue, the family members drifted in: Henry Talbot accompanied by Lady Mary and their daughter, Caroline. After filling their plates from the silver chafing dishes, they took their seats at the linen-clad dining table. Sometime later, a sleepy Sybbie Branson joined them, unable to suppress a yawn. It didn’t go unnoticed by the sharp-eyed Mary who observed, “I see they kept you late at the hospital again.”

“One of the nurses became ill, so I offered to stay. I didn’t mind, really,” Sybbie explained while reaching for the coffeepot.

Mary merely raised her carefully arched eyebrows in reply.

Hearing the exchange, Thomas experienced a feeling of the past repeating itself. A generation ago, it might have been Lady Grantham speaking to her youngest daughter in much the same manner. Sybbie even resembled her late mother, both in looks and temperament. When the war broke out, she had insisted on leaving her father and his family to work as a volunteer nurse at the village hospital as Sybil did in the first world war.

Mary changed tacks. “You had a visitor here last night.”

“Oh?” Sybbie inquired disinterestedly.

“It was Freddie Moore,” Caroline blurted out excitedly. “He was simply _devastated_ when we told him you weren’t home.”

Henry looked up from his newspaper. “And who, may I ask, is Freddie Moore?”

Caroline fixed her father with a look of exasperation. “Oh, Papa! He’s only the most handsome man in the world, and he’s mad about Sybbie, _and_ he drives a roadster.”

“Which he didn't buy from us,” Henry grumbled.

“He’s the son and heir of Viscount Stockley at Glenview Hall,” his wife informed him. Then back to Sybbie, “You could do a lot worse, you know.”

Sybbie swallowed the last of her coffee. “I have to get back to the hospital.”

“But you haven’t eaten anything,” Mary objected.

“I’ll grab something later if I can.”

“Oh—I want to go into the village, too,” Caroline squealed. “Can I get a ride with you?”

Both young women jumped up, and Mary called to their retreating backs, “Don’t forget that your Aunt Edith and Uncle Bertie are coming today. I expect both of you here for dinner.”

This was followed by the sound of muffled replies.

“Really! Girls these days,” Mary sniffed as Thomas cleared away their places.

***

Sybbie stepped onto the ward, absently straightening the cap of her Red Cross uniform. The Downton Cottage Hospital had changed little since the days when Dr. Clarkson was in charge. Upon his retirement years earlier, another doctor had taken over his practice as well as the running of the hospital. Alistair Mitchell was a middle-aged widower with a quiet, thoughtful manner that had quickly endeared him to the village. He was well-liked by the nurses and the wounded soldiers who filled the wards just as they had during the last war.

“Nurse Branson,” he called out upon seeing her. “I received a call earlier. It seems they’re sending us a dozen more men this afternoon. Could you see to it that the beds are set up?”

“But where will we put them, Doctor? The wards are already full.”

The physician nodded grimly. “I’m afraid we’ll have to leave them in the corridors for now until space opens up.” He added under his breath, “Damn this war.”

***

Johnny checked the crates of liquor being unloaded from the van against the inventory sheet in his hand. When at last he was satisfied, he signed for the delivery in a surprisingly elegant hand. One by one, he hauled the crates inside the back door, stacking them neatly on the pub floor. “I’ll put them in the cellar.”

“Thank you, son.” The establishment was empty now except for the elderly man seated at a corner table. He rose slowly, leaning hard on his stick. “I’ll just go upstairs and give your mother a hand with the guestrooms.”

The young man carefully conveyed the liquor down the rickety stairs to the cellar, his thick muscular frame tensing under the weight of the heavy crates. When he was done, he poured himself a pint of ale from the tap behind the bar. He heard a rap on the glass outside and saw a pretty, dark-haired girl waving frantically to him. He hurried to unlock the door. “Caroline!”

She bounced past him and hopped up on a barstool. “What have you been doing? You’re all sweaty.”

He grinned at her. “I’ve been working, something you wouldn’t know anything about.”

She noticed his beer. “Can I have one of those, too?”

“You know you’re too young to drink.”

“I’m only a few months younger than you are, Johnny Bates. Besides, I’ll be eighteen soon.”

“But not yet.” He offered her a bottle of pop instead.

She accepted her defeat gracefully. “It’s such a lovely day. I thought we might take a picnic lunch out to the lake.”

Johnny was conflicted. He knew he should stay and help his parents out at the pub, but the opportunity to spend an afternoon at the lake with Caroline was impossible to resist. “I’ll come for you about one o’clock.”

***

Edith stared out the car’s windscreen, watching the rolling English scenery pass by. Behind the wheel was her husband, Bertie, with her children in the back seat. She wasn’t looking forward to this visit to her childhood home. Now that both their parents were gone, she and Mary had little to say to each other, not that they’d ever been close. But she thought it important that Marigold and Peter know their aunt and cousins. After all, they _were_ family. She was also troubled by a conversation she’d had the previous day with her daughter.

“This time I want to go to Yew Tree Farm,” Marigold had stated out of the blue.

“What? Why would you do that?” Edith had fought to control the panic in her voice.

“I want to see where I lived as a baby. Maybe the people there now might know what happened to the Drewes.”

“How would they know? The Parkers took over the tenancy from old Mr. Mason when he died.”

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to ask,” the younger woman insisted. “If I could only find Mr. Drewe, then I’d finally learn who my parents were.”

Since Marigold had first been old enough to question the circumstances of her birth, Edith had repeated the same story she told anyone who asked: she had made the girl her ward when the tenant farmer she was living with was no longer able to raise his dead friend’s child. She had planned to tell her daughter the truth when she turned eighteen, but somehow it had never felt like the right time.

And now they were returning to where it happened all those years ago. Edith felt an impending sense of doom as the car made its way toward Downton Abbey.


	2. Chapter 2

The warm May sun glistened on the lake and shone down on the young couple resting on its shore. Johnny drew another sandwich from the wicker basket beside him. “These are really good,” he remarked appreciatively. “Did you make them?” He knew what the answer would be but felt obliged to ask.

“Don’t be daft. I had the kitchen maid make them up,” Caroline replied, choosing a ripe peach for herself. “Mrs. Parker was too busy preparing for tonight’s dinner. Aunt Edith and Uncle Bertie are coming to stay, and they’re bringing Marigold and Peter with them.”

“Mister George—I mean—Lord Grantham will be sorry to miss them.” Having been raised for a time in the Abbey nursery, Johnny had grown up with George. While they remained cordial, the relative difference in their circumstances precluded any real friendship. Johnny understood this and didn’t hold it against him.

Caroline laughed. “It’s odd to think of George as Lord anyone. To me, he’s just my big brother—well, half-brother, anyway,” she corrected herself.

“Have you heard from him lately? Be sure to send him my regards.”

“We got a letter last week, but he doesn’t say much.” The girl’s face clouded over. “He’s changed since he went into the army. When he comes home on leave now, he’s so quiet and serious. Mama says when the war ends and he’s back with all of us, he’ll be his old self again, but I’m not so sure.”

Johnny nodded soberly. “He’s off fighting in a terrible war. That’s bound to change anyone.” He then reverted to a common complaint of his. “Meanwhile, I’m here in Downton doing nothing.”

“It isn’t your fault you have asthma,” Caroline reassured him for the umpteenth time, teasing, “and besides, it isn’t _so_ bad here, is it?”

“Not at present,” he had to admit. Indeed, he couldn’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be.

Caroline suddenly changed topics. “My birthday is next week.”

His face dropped. “Does this mean you’ll be going off to London again?” The previous summer, she had been gone for what seemed an eternity.

“No, Silly, one is only presented once, and Mama doesn’t want to do the season what with the war and George away fighting and all. She and Papa are throwing me a party, though, and you simply must be there.”

Johnny hesitated. It was one thing to spend time with Caroline on her own as they had since they were children. It was quite another when she was with her own people. “I’ll have to see,” he mumbled noncommittally.

She tossed back her dark head determinedly, looking every inch her mother’s daughter. “I won’t take no for an answer.”

***

The wounded soldiers arrived at the hospital late that afternoon as promised. Sybbie and the other nurses immediately went to work getting them settled in their beds.

Dr. Mitchell examined each of them in turn, offering words of encouragement while writing instructions on their charts regarding their care. When things had finally calmed down, he approached Sybbie. “Go home now, Nurse Branson. You worked a double shift yesterday, and you must be dead on your feet.”

“No more than you, Doctor,” Sybbie ventured. She noticed that the lines around his eyes and mouth were deeper than usual.

“Yes, but I don’t have anyone at home waiting for me.” He said it in a matter-of-fact manner with no hint of self-pity. Sybbie knew his wife had died years earlier and that there were no children from the marriage. The hospital and the patients were his whole life. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he added with a note of finality.

She knew better than to argue and promptly took her leave. Almost immediately upon stepping outside the hospital’s gate, she heard a man say, “There you are.”

She turned toward the voice. “Freddie. What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you, of course. Do you _ever_ stop working?”

“Well, I’m not working now.”

He brightened up. “Go home and change. I’m taking you out.”

“I can’t tonight, I’m afraid. My Aunt Edith and her family are coming for a visit, and Aunt Mary wants everyone home for dinner.”

Freddie frowned. “Can’t you get out of it?”

“I don’t think so.” Then seeing the disappointment on his face, she attempted to soften the blow. “Another time.” With a last sweet smile, she continued on, leaving him staring after her.

***

Lieutenant George Crawley reread the contents of the letter he’d received earlier. It didn’t go unnoticed by one of his fellow officers, a handsome young captain who had become a close friend. “Is that from your girl?” he teased.

“Actually, it’s from my mother.”

“Does she know you’ve got leave coming?” Then with an exaggerated air of despair, he sighed. “You’ll go home to Downton and your family while I’ll be all alone in Staffordshire.”

George swallowed the bait. “You can come home with me if you like. Mama wrote that my aunt and her family will be staying, so I don’t suppose one more guest will matter.”

“Your aunt wouldn’t happen to have a bevy of beautiful daughters, would she?”

“No, but she has a ward, Marigold, who is a year or two younger than I am. She’s very pretty.”

“Then I gratefully accept your invitation.”

***

The car pulled up before the imposing front doors of the Abbey. The family members quickly emerged to be met by Lady Mary and Henry. “We were watching for you,” Mary explained, giving her sister a quick peck on the cheek. “You’re just in time for tea.” Then turning to face her niece and nephew, she exclaimed, “Goodness! How grown-up you both are.” She wasn’t sure this visit was a good idea, but her sluggish conscience had nudged her to make the offer anyway. Henry shook Bertie’s hand while the hallboys removed the luggage to be taken upstairs. They all made their way inside.

Thomas stood waiting in the library behind a long table laden with tiny crustless sandwiches, dainty cakes, and an elaborate tea service. Edith greeted him with a smile, “Hello, Barrow. How are you?”

“I’m well, m’lady. Thank you.”

“How was the drive?” Henry asked Bertie once they were all served. This led to a discussion between the two concerning cars and motorways. It left the sisters free to catch up on family matters.

“Where are the girls?” Edith began awkwardly. “Marigold has been so eager to see them again.”

“God knows,” Mary replied, rolling her eyes. “They’re always running here and there without a word to anyone. It’s not like when we were young.”

“Not much is,” Edith agreed. There was a long pause as Thomas stepped in to refill their teacups.

Peter inquired after his cousin. “How is George? How many Germans has he killed?”

“Peter, please,” his mother admonished.

“He’s fine, I believe,” Mary replied primly. _What a horrid child_. But was George really any different at that age? Probably not.

“I can’t wait to enlist when I’m eighteen. I’ll show those Nazis. I just hope the war isn’t over before then.” The boy turned to his mother, frowning. “I could join up now if you’d only sign the paper.”

“We’ve been through this before,” Edith replied tensely. “You need to finish your schooling first.” She flashed an embarrassed smile at her sister.

Mary tactfully changed the subject. “Marigold, do have some of that banana and chocolate cake. Mrs. Parker made it especially for you. She remembered it was your favorite when you were a little girl.”

“Mrs. _Parker_?”

“The cook. She took over from Mrs. Patmore.”

Marigold couldn’t hide her excitement. “Is she any relation to the Parkers who have Yew Tree Farm?”

Mary’s mouth opened and closed in confusion. “Her husband works the farm. He used to be a footman here. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Marigold replied, affecting an air of nonchalance.

Edith merely sipped her tea in silence.


	3. Chapter 3

A letter from George arrived several days later informing his mother that he’d been granted leave and was bringing a friend home with him. Mary was quick to share the happy news with the rest of the household. Caroline was ecstatic, as it meant that he’d be able to attend her birthday party, while Peter was eager to get a first-hand account of the war.

Barrow beamed as he made his way downstairs. He felt an affinity for all the children of the house but none more than the young earl. As a child, George had regarded Thomas almost as a father figure, and in turn, had become like the son the butler would never have. Though their relationship had evolved over the intervening years, the two remained friendly.

Thomas encountered the housekeeper coming out of her sitting room. “Oh, Mrs. Fry, I’ve just learned that His Lordship will be returning home this weekend. Will you see to it that his room is made ready? He’ll be bringing a guest, so you’ll have to prepare another room in the bachelors’ corridor.”

“Yes, Mr. Barrow. I’ll do it at once.” She rewarded him with a warm smile.

A note of annoyance crept into his voice. “There’s no hurry. As I said, they won’t be here till the weekend.”

“Then I’ll wait,” the housekeeper agreed pleasantly.

Thomas didn’t know why he found the woman so maddening. She was certainly obliging enough and much more cheerful than her predecessor. Indeed, she had seemed a breath of fresh air after the dour Mrs. Babbage who had taken over the post from Mrs. Hughes. Thomas became aware that the woman was staring expectantly up at him. “That’s all for now,” he spoke dismissively.

“Very good, Mr. Barrow.” She flashed him another smile before heading on her way.

He merely shook his head and went in search of the cook. But before he could reach the kitchen, he heard the raised voice of Mrs. Parker haranguing the young kitchen maid. “Doris, didn’t I tell you to take those tarts out of the oven before they burned? Now you’ll have to chuck them out and start again.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Parker. I guess I forgot.”

Before Daisy could reply, Thomas interrupted. “May I have a word?” The put-upon Doris seized the opportunity to make a grateful escape.

Daisy was still seething. “That fool girl! Sometimes I think it would be easier to do all the work meself.”

Thomas wasn’t about to get drawn into the endless kitchen drama that had long formed the backdrop of life below stairs. He quickly shared his news and departed.

***

Not long after the butler made his exit, the kitchen welcomed another visitor. Marigold cleared her throat softly to announce her presence.

Daisy looked up from her work in surprise. “Oh—Miss Marigold. How can I help?”

Now that she was there, the young woman seemed uncertain how to begin. “I understand that you and your family are the current tenants of Yew Tree Farm.”

Daisy’s face showed her surprise. “That’s right.”

Marigold wrung her hands nervously. “I was wondering if you or your husband might know what happened to the Drewe family who used to live there?” She hurried to add, “Of course, you probably won’t remember them.”

“No, I do remember them, Miss, but I don’t know where they went after leaving the estate. My husband won’t either.”

“I see.” There was a long pause before Marigold spoke again, her voice quavering with emotion. “I thought if I could find them, they’d be able to tell me about my parents.” She paused. “I suppose that must sound silly to you.”

The cook shook her head. “Not at all. I never knew my parents either, so I understand.”

Marigold became curious. “Didn’t you want to know who they were?”

Daisy considered the question carefully. “I used to wonder but not anymore. I have Andy and the children now. They’re all the family I need.”

“Would it be possible for me to come to the farm sometime? I’d like to see where I lived as a baby.”

“Certainly, Miss. You’re welcome to visit anytime.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Parker. Thank you very much.”

***

Sybbie had been granted a rare day off from the hospital and agreed to spend the evening with Freddie. He arrived at the Abbey dressed elegantly in a dark suit which only enhanced his tanned good looks and even white teeth. Barrow showed him into the drawing room where the family was gathered before dinner. “Please, have a seat,” Mary offered. “Sybbie will be down in a moment.” She then introduced him to her sister’s family.

“Where are you taking her?” Edith inquired curiously.

“York. We’ll have dinner followed by dancing or a picture show.”

“How lovely that sounds,” she said with a glance at the oblivious Bertie.

“Are you coming to my birthday party on Saturday,” Caroline asked him.

“I will if Sybbie wants me there.”

“Of course, she does. Why wouldn’t she?”

The door opened, and Sybbie entered. “Hello, Freddie. I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”

Caroline turned accusingly to her. “I asked Freddie to my party, but he says he’ll only come if you want him to.”

“Then he’s very welcome,” Sybbie replied. “Shall we go?”

The couple made their farewells and drove off in Freddie’s roadster. An hour later, they were seated in the restaurant of the finest hotel in York, sipping champagne and indulging in caviar on toast points. “This makes a nice change from the hospital,” Sybbie said with a laugh.

“I wish I could understand why you go on working there. You know you don’t need to.” It was a constant bone of contention between them.

Sybbie felt herself tense up as she always did when the subject was raised. “I want to help with the war effort, and this is a way to do that. Besides,” she added, “I find I rather enjoy it.”

“You _enjoy_ tending to a bunch of wounded officers?”

“You forget that you were one of those officers once.”

“And I had the prettiest nurse to see me through.” He had been discharged from the Army after a bullet shattered his left arm, followed by a near-fatal infection.

She blushed slightly at the compliment.

“What would you say if I offered you a better job?”

“What do you mean?”

“You could be the future Viscountess Stockley if you were my wife.”

Sybbie felt her heart pounding in her chest. “I don’t understand. What are you saying?”

“I’m asking you to marry me, Sybbie Branson. You must know I’m in love with you.” He reached into his breast pocket and held out an enormous sapphire ring. “I bought this to match your eyes.”

The young woman felt the room spinning around her. After a time, she realized she was expected to offer some sort of reply. “I can’t answer now.”

Freddie’s face showed his disappointment. “But you’ll promise to think about it?”

“I will.”

***

George turned up at the Abbey the next day with his friend. The captain couldn’t contain his admiration. “I know you’re an earl, but you never said you lived in a palace.”

George appeared slightly embarrassed. “Come inside and meet everyone.” As it was tea time, the family members were congregated in the library. “Hello, Mama,” he interrupted, causing everyone to turn and stare in open-mouthed delight.

Mary rushed toward her son, enveloping him in a warm embrace. As always, she was struck by his resemblance to his late father, especially in his army uniform. It was almost as if Matthew were standing there again. “We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.”

“We got away early.” Then he remembered his companion. “Mama, this is Charlie—that is—Capt. Charles Bryant.”

The name seemed oddly familiar to Mary, but she couldn’t remember where she had heard it. She fixed him with a pleasant smile. “Are you in my son’s regiment, Captain?”

“George and I are in the same unit. I outrank him there, at least,” he replied with a disarming grin.

George greeted the other family members and Barrow, introducing his friend to his family while Mary looked on with a curious expression.


	4. Chapter 4

Saturday came, and preparations for that night’s party were in full swing. Downstairs, Mrs. Parker was putting the final touches on a layer cake covered with tiny pink rosettes. Upstairs, Barrow and the hallboys were busy arranging small tables and chairs in the great hall. Along one wall was a long narrow table to hold the buffet supper. In the corner, Caroline’s record player had been set up, replacing the old gramophone of days gone by. Mary looked on with approval before seeking out her daughter. She found the girl in her bedroom frantically searching through her wardrobe. “I can’t find my blue frock. I wanted to wear it tonight.”

“It mustn’t be back from the laundry yet. The yellow one looks very nice on you,” Mary suggested.

“Johnny likes me in blue. He said so once.”

“Johnny? You don’t mean Johnny Bates? Have you invited him here tonight?”

“At first, he wasn’t sure he wanted to come, but I told him my birthday would be positively _ruined_ if he didn’t.”

Mary was dumbstruck. She knew the two had been friendly since childhood but hadn’t realized the extent of their attachment. For years, she’d been so taken up with the running of the estate for George that she had somewhat neglected her daughter. She saw the folly of that now. “Perhaps he thought he’d feel out of place,” she hinted.

“Why should he?”

“Caroline, you’re not a child anymore. You can’t go running about with a boy from the village. You’ve been presented, and it’s time for you to take your place in society, meet new people, and make friends. I know it’s difficult with the war on and most of the young men away, but it won’t last much longer.”

“I like being with Johnny. You don’t even know him.”

Mary fought to remain calm. “While I’m sure he’s a lovely boy, especially considering who his parents are, he’s simply not the right friend for you.”

“Aren’t I the best judge of whom my friends should be?”

“Darling, you know I’m only thinking of your future.”

Caroline put an end to the discussion. “I’d better get down to the laundry and make sure my frock is ready for tonight.”

***

Sybbie stepped onto the hospital ward to find Dr. Mitchell standing by the bedside of a Maj. Harlow who lay in a restless sleep. The expression on the physician’s face was one of deep concern. “He’s no better, then,” Sybbie observed sadly.

“I’m afraid not. The pneumonia has taken hold, and our supply of penicillin is depleted. I’ve been calling about, but it’s the same story everywhere. I’m treating him with sulfa drugs, but I’m not sure they will be enough.” Unknown to the doctor, the new wonder drug was being stockpiled by the Allied Forces in advance of the secret D-Day invasion.

“I’ll give him a cool bath. That will bring down the fever and make him more comfortable, at least for a while,” Sybbie offered.

Dr. Mitchell nodded absently. “He has a wife and children, doesn’t he? What a pity.” He changed the subject. “Captain Moore was here earlier. He was looking for you.”

Sybbie frowned. For some reason, she didn’t like Freddie coming to the hospital. “It’s probably just something to do with the party this evening.” Hearing how frivolous her words sounded among the life and death struggle of the Major, she added, “My cousin is having a birthday, that’s all. It’s not important.”

“Well, we must be sure to get you home early,” the doctor said before turning away.

Sybbie filled a basin with tepid water and fetched some towels to bathe the Major. What did Freddie mean by coming here? She had told him she needed time to consider his proposal, and she was determined not to be rushed into a decision. It was at times like this that she missed having a mother to talk to. She was close to her stepmother, Lucy, and her aunts Mary and Edith, but it wasn’t the same. She knew she had to give him her answer soon, but what should that answer be? Freddie loved her, of that she was sure. And as a future Viscountess residing at Glenview Hall, her life would be one of luxury and ease. While she truly did care for him and enjoyed their time together, was it enough to make a successful marriage? She sighed, determined to concentrate on her work.

***

George and Charles were seated together in the library after tea. Everyone else had dashed off to prepare for that evening. “So who’s coming to this soirée, anyway?” Charles asked.

George merely shrugged. “Just us and some of Caroline’s friends, I suppose. I know it’s a bore, but it means a lot to my sister.”

“Actually, I’m looking forward to it. It’ll give me a chance to spend more time with your cousin Sybbie.”

“Sybbie?”

“She’s an angel, and I’m completely smitten with her, but I don’t seem to be getting anywhere on my own. Maybe you could put in a good word for me.”

George grinned. “Don’t tell me you’ve finally met a woman who can resist your charms.”

“It appears so.” A terrible thought occurred to Charles. “She doesn’t have a boyfriend, does she?”

“Mama did mention that she’s seeing someone, but I don’t know how serious it is.”

“So what’s she like, this cousin of yours?”

George paused to consider the question. “Sybbie has always been a champion for her causes. She feels things deeply, I believe.”

“Not like me, you mean. Still, she’s a right bit jollier than that Marigold.”

Upon returning home, George had immediately noticed the change in Marigold. She had become unnaturally silent and subdued. Something was definitely bothering her. “Marigold’s alright, really, when you get to know her.”

“What’s her story, anyway?”

“Mama said she was an orphan living with one of the tenant farmers, and when they could no longer keep her, Aunt Edith made Marigold her ward.”

“An orphan? Well, we have that in common, at least.”

George rose. “We’d better get dressed. The guests will be arriving soon.”

***

Johnny stood before the mirror nervously straightening his tie while his mother, Anna, looked on proudly. “Don’t you look smart,” she observed with a smile.

“Do I? Because I feel like a fool. I won’t know anyone there but George and Caroline.”

“ _Lord Grantham_ and _Miss_ Caroline,” she corrected him.

“What will I talk about? I don’t think anyone wants to hear about the pub.”

“You’re a bright boy. You can talk about other things.”

“Do you think I should stay home?” he asked hopefully.

“You already told Miss Caroline you’d come,” Anna replied noncommittally.

“Dad didn’t think it a good idea.” The invitation had occasioned a great deal of discussion in the Bates family.

Anna hesitated. She secretly shared her husband’s concerns but thought the decision should be left up to their son. “Your father loves you. He just doesn’t want to see you embarrassed or hurt.”

“But you’re friends with Caroline’s mother. How is that different?”

“We’re _friendly_ , yes, but in the end, I was just her maid, wasn’t I?” She rose up on her tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.” She added, “Be sure to say goodbye to your father before you go.”

After he was gone, she curled up on the sitting room sofa beside her husband, resting her head on his shoulder. “I hope it goes well for him.”

John became thoughtful. “Were we wrong to allow him to be raised with the children of the Abbey? Have we let him grow up thinking he’s one of them when, of course, he never can be?”

“We didn’t have a choice back then unless I quit work to stay home with him. And without my income, we could never have afforded to buy the pub.”

John reached for his stick. “I’ve got to help Bob out behind the bar. Don’t wait up.” He struggled to rise and make his way to the door.

Anna remained where she was, wearing an expression of concern.


	5. Chapter 5

Caroline’s girlfriends were the first to arrive. They gathered in a huddle, all of them talking at once while venturing occasional shy glances at the oblivious George and Charles. Even young Peter became an object of interest as he helped himself to the punch.

Sybbie had returned home from the hospital just in time to change, and now she entered the great hall while Charles looked on appreciatively. “Wish me luck,” he whispered to George before hurrying to her side. He fixed her with an adoring smile. “You must be tired after being on your feet all day. Why don’t you sit here.” He held out a chair for her before taking the seat opposite.

“Thank you. I am a bit tired,” Sybbie admitted.

“And yet you still manage to look absolutely ravishing.”

The young woman blushed prettily. “You’re just saying that.”

“Not at all.” He then added, “I’d like the chance to get to know you better.”

Sybbie smiled playfully. “Oh? And why would that be?”

“Because I find I can’t get you out of my mind. I think about you all the time.”

She laughed. “You probably say that to all the girls.”

Charles’ expression became serious. “Yes, but this is the first time I’ve ever meant it. I realize we’ve just met, Sybbie, but I know I’m right about this.”

“I don’t understand."

“What I’m trying to say, in my own stupid way, is I’ve fallen for you, and I want you to marry me.”

Sybbie merely stared blankly back at him.

He knew he had taken her by surprise and wanted to give her a moment to recover. “I’ll get us some champagne.”

At the same time, Freddie Moore swept in, looking uncharacteristically disheveled. He made a beeline to where Sybbie sat, sliding into the chair across from her. “Sorry, I’m late, darling, but I had a blasted flat on the way. Have you eaten yet?”

“No, but … ”

Charles returned with the drinks. Sybbie was forced to make awkward introductions. “Freddie, this is George’s friend Capt. Charles Bryant. He’s been spending his leave with us.” Then indicating the seated man, she added, “And this is the Hon. Freddie Moore.” 

Freddie stared at the other man coolly, indicating the glasses in his hands. “Are those for us?” 

“Actually, Charles was sitting there before you came,” Sybbie explained. “He got the champagne for himself and me.”

“How good of you to keep my fiancée company until I got here.”

 _Fiancée_? Charles set the glasses on the table, and with a last agonized glance at Sybbie, he left the party.

***

Johnny entered the hall and immediately began to sweat. He had never felt more aware of his too-tight suit and worn shoes. He wondered if he should just slip away, but Caroline had already spotted him and was rushing over to greet him. She took him by the hand and promptly introduced him to her friends. He smiled at the girls, knowing we wouldn’t remember any of their names. Next, she led him to the table where Mary, Henry, Edith, and Bertie were seated. After introducing the Hexhams, she announced, “This is Johnny Bates.”

Edith looked up in surprise. “You must be Anna’s son.”

“I am, m’lady.”

Caroline broke in. “Johnny is a writer.”

“Oh? What kind of things do you write?” Edith asked politely.

“Just war stories mainly—nothing much,” Johnny replied modestly.

Caroline was quick to disagree. “I’ve read everything he’s written, and he’s simply brilliant. He’s going to be a famous author someday.” A sudden idea crossed her mind. “Aunt Edith, you should hire him to work for your magazine.” She turned to Johnny. “My aunt owns a London magazine.”

Johnny felt his face go red.

“Were you in the war?” Bertie inquired, seeing the young man’s embarrassment.

“No, I … ”

“He tried to enlist, but he was turned down on medical grounds,” Caroline explained. Then spotting the buffet table, she declared, “I’m simply famished. Let’s get something to eat.”

“It was nice meeting you,” Johnny managed before Caroline took his arm, dragging him behind her. What must they think of him?

As they filled their plates from the buffet, George approached the pair. “Hello, Johnny. How have you been?” He extended his hand.

Johnny shifted his plate to take the proffered hand. “Very well, m’lord.” He was surprised at the change in his old nursery mate. The young earl appeared older than his years as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He became aware that George was speaking to him.

“I’m sorry if my little sister forced you into this. I know how determined she can be.”

Caroline frowned disapprovingly. “Why have you been avoiding my friends all night when you know how much they want to be with you?”

“They’re a bit young, aren’t they?” George replied skeptically.

“They’re old enough. And when the war is over, you’ll need to marry and have a son. Don’t wait too long, or all the good ones will be taken.”

George didn’t reply and merely walked away.

***

Marigold slipped out of the party early in the evening after making a token appearance. She had arranged with Mrs. Parker earlier to visit the farm after her husband finished his work. The twenty-minute walk gave the girl a chance to think. Maybe it was time to put all this foolishness behind her and just get on with her life. Nevertheless, she knocked on the front door of the little farmhouse and was promptly greeted by a tall man with the beginning of gray in his dark curls. “Please come in, Miss,” he said, stepping back to make room for her to enter. Standing behind him were two gangly teen-aged boys. “The older one is Will, and the younger one is Albert,” Andy informed her.

Marigold nodded politely to them. “Your wife told you why I’m here?”

“She said you wanted to see where you lived as a baby. Feel free to look about.”

Marigold stepped forward tentatively, aware of the three sets of eyes on her. She made her way through to the sitting room and into the kitchen, passing a newly constructed lavatory.

“I built that myself,” Andy announced proudly.

She climbed up the stairs to the bedrooms before coming down again. “Could I possibly see outside?”

“Certainly,” Andy agreed pleasantly. He took her on a quick tour of the farm.

“You used to work at the Abbey, didn’t you?” Marigold inquired.

“I was a footman there for years until we took over the tenancy.”

“Do you enjoy farming?”

Andy smiled easily. “It’s the best life there is.” And as a farmer, he was exempt from the conscription.

After thanking him for his trouble, Marigold started for home. She was in no hurry to rejoin the party and took the long way back through the village. She was surprised to happen upon Capt. Bryant coming from the opposite direction. “What are you doing here?” they both asked in unison. 

Charles answered first. “I needed a walk to clear my head.”

Marigold followed with, “I’ve just been to the farmhouse where I lived as a baby. I thought it might trigger a memory, but I didn’t remember it at all. How could I?” She added, “I suppose George told you that I’m an orphan.”

Charles nodded a silent acknowledgment. They fell into a comfortable stride together.

Marigold continued, “I’d love to know who my parents were, but I guess I never shall.”

“If it’s any consolation, I’m an orphan too. My father was killed in the last war, and my mother died of the Spanish Flu. I was raised by my grandparents. They were good to me, in their own way.”

“Aunt Edith and Uncle Bertie have always been very kind, but it’s not the same, is it?”

“No, it’s not the same,” Charles admitted. 

Suddenly, Marigold was aware that he was no longer by her side. She turned to see him standing stock-still in front of the driveway of a stone cottage, staring silently at the gate. “What is it?” she asked.

“Do you know who owns this house?”

“Crawley House? It belongs to the estate. George’s grandmother lived here when we were children, but I don’t know who’s letting it now. Why?”

“I feel sure I was here before, but it would have many years ago when I was quite young. I seem to remember that someone was crying—a red-haired woman.” He attempted to shake off the mood. “Don’t mind me. I’m talking rubbish. I’ve never been to Downton before in my life.”


	6. Chapter 6

Thomas sat down to breakfast the next morning still tired from the day before. It was at times like these that he felt the years creeping up on him. How had Mr. Carson managed when he grew older? Barrow knew the answer. He had delegated the workload among a larger staff while Thomas was forced to do much of the work himself with only two hallboys and the women to help him. He looked down to see a pack of his favorite cigarettes leaning against his plate. “Where did these come from?” he asked of no one in particular.

To his right, Mrs. Fry purred with delight. “I heard you say yesterday that you were almost out, and I knew you wouldn’t have time to get to the village what with the preparations for the party. I walked down after lunch and got them at Bakewell’s. I remembered what brand you like.”

Thomas’ eyes narrowed. In his experience, people seldom did favors without expecting something in return. “That was kind of you. I’ll get you the money after breakfast.”

The housekeeper appeared shocked. “That’s not necessary, Mr. Barrow. They’re a gift

“Oh—um, thank you, then.” Thomas stuffed the cigarettes uncertainly into his breast pocket and got on with his breakfast. He’d have to keep a closer eye on her in the future. When he was finished, he made his way upstairs to George’s room on the gallery.

Since the new earl had returned home, he’d seemed somewhat distracted, as if there were something on his mind. Thomas remembered the pressures of war all too well and was happy to provide a sympathetic ear. After knocking, he found the young man dressed and seated on his bed.

George smiled upon seeing the companion of his youth. “Hello, Barrow. I hope they’re not working you too hard.”

“No, m’lord,” he lied in the time-honored tradition of servants everywhere. “I just wanted to make sure you found everything to your satisfaction on your return.”

“How could it be otherwise with you in charge?”

Thomas simpered at that. He then proceeded carefully. “You’ve been very quiet since you’ve been home. I wondered if anything was wrong. If you’d like to talk, I know what it is to fight in a war.”

“It’s not the war,” George corrected him quickly. “In fact, I’m dreading the end of it.”

“M’lord?”

“I didn’t mean it like that. Of course, I want to see the fighting stop, but when it does, I’ll have to come back to Downton and settle down with a family.”

“And that’s not what you want to do?” Thomas couldn’t imagine a better life.

“I’ll have to get married—to a woman.” George looked pointedly at the butler.

Thomas couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re not saying … ”

“Yes, I am. I’ve known for years that I was different from other men, but I also know what’s expected of someone in my position. I must marry and produce an heir to continue the line.”

“Does Lady Mary know?”

“That her only son is a queer?” George replied bitterly. “I’m only telling you because I know you understand.”

“Because I’m a queer, too.”

“I’m sorry, Barrow. It’s just that you’re the only other person I can talk to about this.”

Thomas wondered when the younger man had learned of his nature and who had been the one to inform him. He wanted to say something comforting. “Many men like us marry and have children.” His thoughts immediately turned to Richard Ellis. “You can always keep a man on the side in York or somewhere else.”

“Did you keep a man on the side?”

“I _was_ the man on the side.”

“I’m sorry.”

Thomas shrugged. “It was a long time ago now.”

George lowered his head in defeat. “What am I going to do?”

***

Mary addressed Henry while dressing in their bedroom before breakfast. “We need to talk before we go down. It’s rather important.”

“What is it, darling?” her husband inquired.

“What are we going to do about Caroline?”

“Caroline?”

“You saw how she was last night with Johnny Bates. She’s become way too attached to him.”

Henry laughed. “Oh, is that all? I thought it might be something serious.”

Mary turned angry eyes on him. “This _is_ serious. Our daughter is involved with a boy from the village, the son of our former servants. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“He seems like a nice young man to me.”

“I’m sure he is, but do you want to see Caroline throw her life away with what—a pub owner?” She knew how snobbish she sounded, but she didn’t care. This was her daughter’s life they were talking about.

“I think you’re making too much of it,” Henry assured her. “They’re both very young. I’m sure it will pass.”

“They’re not children anymore, Henry. They’re eighteen.” She paused. “I blame myself. I should have seen this coming. I was so wrapped up in running the estate for George that I allowed her too much freedom.” She placed her head in her hands. “What was I thinking?”

“Caroline has always been independent like her mother.”

Mary thought back to her indiscretions with Kamal Pamuk and Tony Gillingham decades earlier. She had only survived the scandal of the former by marrying Matthew. She didn’t want that for her daughter. “I don’t want Caroline to make the same mistakes I did.”

“I hope you don’t include marrying me as one of those mistakes.”

“Of course not.” Mary knew the relative difference in their circumstances had always weighed heavily on her husband, no matter how often she reassured him. “I just want the best for our daughter, that’s all.”

“What do you propose to do?”

“We could take her away to London. You know the old saying, ‘out of sight, out of mind.’ If she could just meet other young men, I know she’d soon forget all about Johnny, but it’s so difficult with the war on. Maybe we could send her up north with Edith and Bertie when they leave. She could spend the entire summer at Brancaster. Yes, I think I’ll ask Edith.”

“And who’s going to tell Caroline?”

***

Edith followed her daughter outside after breakfast. Marigold took a seat on a bench under the shade of an ancient cedar tree, and her mother dropped down beside her. They sat in awkward silence for several moments. “Where did you go yesterday?” Edith finally inquired. “One minute you were at the party and the next you simply vanished.”

“I didn’t think anyone would miss me,” Marigold replied glumly.

“Of course, they did. Caroline was looking for you, and George asked me where you’d disappeared to.”

“Actually, I went to Yew Tree Farm.”

“Oh?” Edith managed to squeak out.

“I thought I might remember _something_ , but I didn’t, so that’s that. I guess I’ll never know who my parents were.”

“Is it really that important?”

Marigold stared at her in open-mouthed amazement. “How can you ask me that, you who can trace your family back for generations?” Her voice broke with emotion. “I just want to know who I am. Is that so wrong?” She strode off, leaving her mother staring pityingly after her.

Edith returned to the house and immediately sought out her husband who was alone in the library. She repeated the conversation she’d had with Marigold. “She’s so unhappy. What am I going to do, Bertie?” she asked, knowing what his answer would be.

“You need to tell her the truth. It’s time, my darling.”

Edith began to cry softly. “What will she think of me, having a baby out of wedlock?” She then voiced her deepest fear. “And what if she can’t forgive me? What if she hates me, and I lose her forever? I couldn’t bear it if that happened.”

Bertie wrapped his arms around her. “Marigold loves you. She has a kind heart, and she’ll understand.”

Edith smiled weakly. “Do you really think so?”

“I do. We can tell her together if you like.”

“No. This is one task I have to do on my own.”


	7. Chapter 7

Meanwhile, at the hospital, Sybbie spotted Dr. Mitchell slumped down in a small chair beside the bed of Maj. Harlow. The physician’s clothes were rumpled and a light grayish stubble covered his lower face. She shook his arm gently, and he jerked into wakefulness. “Have you been here all night?” she inquired with concern.

He got unsteadily to his feet. “I must have fallen asleep. I wanted to keep an eye on the Major. He doesn’t have long, I’m afraid.”

Sybbie pulled the sheet over the patient’s face. “He’s dead.”

Dr. Mitchell nodded resignedly. “I’ll notify his family. I only wish I could have done more.”

“You were with him when he died. That will mean a great deal to his loved ones.”

The doctor stared into her eyes and managed a grateful smile. “Thank you, Nurse Branson. You’re very kind.”

While he was in his office pouring over the requisite paperwork, Sybbie slipped down to the Grantham Arms. She immediately spotted Mrs. Bates. “Am I too late for breakfast?”

Anna looked puzzled. “No, Miss Sybbie. If you’d like to have a seat, I can ask the cook to fix you something.”

“Oh no, it’s not for me.” That only seemed to cause more confusion. “I’d like to take it back to the hospital for someone there.”

“I see,” Anna replied, although she clearly didn’t. “Would bacon, eggs, and toast suit?”

“That would be perfect. And coffee, too. Lots of coffee.”

Sybbie returned with the food, setting it out on the doctor’s desk.

“What’s all this?” he inquired.

“Breakfast, of course. You must be hungry.”

“I am, rather,” he admitted. “Thank you.” He took a sip of his coffee and indicated the empty chair in front of him. “Won’t you join me?”

“I’ve already eaten.” But she found herself sitting anyway.

***

Mary spotted her sister coming out of the library looking distracted. “Is something wrong?”

“No. What should be wrong?” Edith snapped.

Mary chose to ignore her tone. “I wanted to ask if you’d be willing to have Caroline for the summer.”

“Caroline? I wouldn’t have thought we’d have much to interest her at Brancaster. It’s rather slow there for a girl like her.”

“That’s the idea.”

“I don’t understand.”

Mary was forced to explain. “She’s become too close to Johnny Bates. You saw them together last night. I was hoping you could introduce her to some appropriate young men. A little distance might make all the difference.”

“What does Caroline have to say about it?”

“She doesn’t know yet. I wanted to check with you first.”

“She’ll know why you’re doing this, and she won’t like it.”

“I’ll say that it was Marigold’s idea. She wanted to get to know her better or something.”

Edith became thoughtful. “Yes, it might be good for Marigold to have someone her age to talk to right now. Alright, then.”

“Good. I’ll tell her straight away.” Mary hurried off in search of her daughter. She found her in her room listening to her records. “Would you please turn that off? We need to talk.”

Caroline did as she was asked. “Wasn’t my party last night simply _smashing_? Everybody said so.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, darling.” Mary considered how best to proceed. “I was just talking with your Aunt Edith, and she’s invited you to spend the entire summer with Marigold at Brancaster. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”

Caroline’s face dropped. “Spend the summer at Brancaster with Marigold? I can’t think of anything worse.”

“Well, she’s made the offer, and it would be rude not to accept. Besides, a change of scenery might do you good.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’ll give you a chance to meet people and make new friends.”

Caroline’s voice rose. “This is about Johnny, isn’t it? You’re trying to keep us apart. You think if I go away I’ll forget all about him. Isn’t that right?”

Mary fought to remain calm. “I want you to go out and have fun. What’s wrong with that?” A sudden thought occurred to her. “Tony and Mabel Gillingham live up that way. I believe they have a son your age, but he’s probably away at the war.”

The girl crossed her arms defiantly. “It doesn’t matter because I won’t be going. Please, tell Aunt Edith thank you but no.”

“I’ve already told her yes, and you _will_ be going.”

“What does Papa say?”

Mary paused imperceptibly. “He agrees with me.”

“Of course, he does.” Caroline promptly turned and stormed out of the room.

***

Edith took her daughter’s arm after luncheon. “Let’s go for a walk.” The pair stepped through the Abbey’s front doors and made their way across the lawn to the stone structure where Edith had once sat with Maj. Gordon in the last war. It was far enough to ensure they wouldn’t be disturbed. “Caroline will be spending the summer with us at Brancaster. Her mother and I fixed it this morning.”

“So that’s why she wasn’t at lunch,” Marigold deduced astutely.

“Never mind that. I brought you here to speak about something important, something I should have told you years ago. I didn’t think you were ready then, but now I believe it’s time.”

“I don’t understand.”

Edith handed her a yellowed slip of paper. “This is a copy of your birth certificate.”

Marigold simply stared at her in open-mouthed astonishment. Finally, she took the document and unfolded it with shaking hands. After a cursory glance, she looked up in confusion. “It’s in French. Am I French, then?”

“It is in French, but you can still make out the names.”

Marigold found her own name and the date of her birth. She continued to study the paper carefully and picked out the word _Mère_ which she knew to mean Mother. Next to it was the name Edith Josephine Crawley. “You’re my mother,” she stated flatly.

“Yes.”

“And Uncle Bertie … ”

“Your father was a man named Michael Gregson. He was killed in Germany before you were born.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me that I was the child of your first marriage? Why keep it a secret?”

Edith would give anything not to hurt her daughter, but there was no turning back. “We had planned to be married, but he died before that could happen.”

“So I’m—illegitimate? My God! Did my father even know about me?”

“No, but I’m sure he would have loved you as much as I do.”

“I don't understand how the Drewes fit into all this.”

“I paid them to care for you when you were a baby. It meant I could visit you sometimes. That was before I brought you here to the nursery.”

“Who knows about this?”

“Your Uncle Bertie, Aunt Mary, and Uncle Henry. Oh, and your Uncle Tom and Aunt Lucy, too, I suppose. Everyone else who was in on the secret is dead.”

“Will you tell Peter he has a half-sister?”

“I’ll leave that up to you to tell him or not when he’s older.”

Marigold sat in silence for several moments. “It all makes sense now. I was a mistake that you had to cover up. I guess I should give thanks that you didn’t get rid of me altogether.”

Edith cringed. She didn’t intend to tell her about the family in Switzerland or the visit to the abortion doctor. “You may have been unplanned, but you were never unwanted.” When there was no response, she continued, “I found a way for us to be together, and it hasn’t turned out so bad, has it? I’ve given you everything you could ever want.”

“Everything except a mother, that is.”

“Darling, you have to understand. I was a young single woman, the daughter of an earl. If anyone had found out the truth, we would have been forced to live out our lives in shame and degradation somewhere far away—outcasts—social pariahs. Wasn’t my way better?”

“I don’t know. I can’t think.” The girl rose. “I need to be alone now.”

“Marigold, please … ”

But she was already walking away.


	8. Chapter 8

Caroline threw open the door of the Grantham Arms, looking desperately about. All she saw were a group of working men seated around a table enjoying an early lunch. She approached the barman, Bob. “Do you know where I can find Johnny? It’s terribly important.”

The man paused to consider. “I believe he had a package to post for his mother. He should be back directly, if you’d like to wait, Miss.”

“Never mind. I’ll find him,” she called out over her shoulder. She hurried in the direction of the post office only to spot Johnny exiting the building. “We have to talk.” She led him around to the back where they wouldn’t be overheard. “My mother is sending me to Northumberland to stay with my Aunt Edith.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“All summer.” She watched Johnny’s face fall. “I know she’s only doing this to keep us apart.”

“She doesn’t approve of me,” he spoke flatly. “I suppose she hoped for more than the son of a pub owner for her only daughter.”

“She doesn’t know you, and besides, you won’t always be working at the pub. You’re going to be a famous writer someday. I know it.”

“Caroline,” he cautioned her modestly.

“I’ll go mad if I can’t be with you.”

“What can we do?”

“I’ve thought about it. We could get married. In Scotland, one only has to be eighteen.”

Johnny merely stared at her in disbelief.

“Well, we always knew we would be married someday, didn’t we?”

“I suppose so,” the young man admitted.

“The only problem is we’d have to actually live in Scotland for two weeks first, and Mama wants to send me back with Aunt Edith and her family when they leave next week.” A new plan occurred to her. “We could get married here if our parents signed for us.”

“But why would they? This is crazy, Caroline. We can’t get married now. Where would we live, for a start?”

“At Downton Abbey, of course.”

“And your people would welcome me with open arms, would they?”

“They’d have to if I was carrying your baby.”

Johnny was stunned into silence.

***

Charles found himself once again standing outside Crawley House, staring fixedly at the gate. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had been there before when he was a little boy. Perhaps his grandparents had known the tenants and come to Downton to visit them. But who was the red-haired woman he remembered, and why was she crying? He remained no closer to solving the mystery.

A woman’s voice interrupted his reverie. “Hello.” He turned to find Sybbie smiling up at him. “You looked like you were a million miles away.”

Charles hadn’t forgotten his rebuff from the previous evening. “I was just about to head back to the Abbey,” he said stiffly.

“May I join you?” She had just left her job at the hospital.

He shrugged indifferently.

“I’m glad I ran into you, so I can explain about last night. Freddie spoke out of turn when he called me his fiancée. We’re not engaged.”

Charles felt all his dashed hopes resurrect themselves. “Then you’re not going to marry him, after all?”

Sybbie appeared to choose her words carefully. “It’s true he proposed, but I haven’t given him an answer. I told him I’d have to think about it.”

“I hope this means there’s a chance for me—for us,” he pleaded.

“So you really do want to marry me?”

“Yes.”

“Even though we barely know each other?”

“Don’t you believe in love at first sight?”

“I don’t think I do, actually,” replied the ever-practical Sybbie. “When I marry, I want to be absolutely certain I’ve got the right man.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

***

Dinner that night was a subdued affair. At either end of the long dining table, Caroline and Marigold stared gloomily down at their plates while their respective mothers pretended not to notice. Sybbie also seemed preoccupied with something. Only Peter was oblivious to the tension in the room. “George promised to take me shooting tomorrow. He said I could use his army rifle.”

“Why? Are you expecting Germans at Downton?” Bertie teased.

“No, but I want to be ready when I join up.”

Mary didn’t enjoy war talk, especially at dinner, and turned to Charles instead. “Where exactly do you live in Staffordshire, Captain?”

“I have a house near Cheadle. It belonged to my grandparents who left it to me when they died. It’s too large for one person, and I find myself rattling away when I’m alone there.”

“Perhaps you’ll have a family someday.”

“I hope so.” He looked pointedly at Sybbie. “I really do hope so.” He changed the subject. “Speaking of houses, I wanted to ask about Crawley House in the village. As soon as I saw it, I had the strangest feeling that I’d been there before.”

“How odd,” Edith remarked.

“Yes, isn’t it? I couldn’t have been more than three years old, but I remember standing outside the gate—at least I think I do.”

Mary’s mind wandered back through the decades. “My first husband and his mother would have been living there then. Perhaps your grandparents brought you with them for a visit.”

George smiled fondly. “Granny Isobel knew all sorts of people. Mama told me she once had a prostitute working in her house.”

“Then she doesn’t sound like someone my grandfather would have known. He was rather disapproving about things like that.”

“Do you have any other family?” Henry inquired.

“No. My father was a major in the army and was killed at Vittorio Venito, and my mother died of the Spanish flu.”

 _Major Bryant_? Mary sat bolt upright. Her eyes shifted over to Edith, but the name didn’t seem to register with her sister. She continued carefully, willing her voice to remain calm. “What do you know about your mother?”

Charles frowned. “Nothing, really. My grandparents never even met her. Apparently, she had no family, so when she died, they got landed with me.”

The talk at the table moved on to other topics while Mary’s head continued to spin. Could this man seated in front of her really be little Charlie?

***

That night, Thomas retired to bed early. As much as he enjoyed having the house full again, all the extra work was exhausting. His mind was still reeling with George’s revelation and what it meant for the future of Downton Abbey. He couldn’t help but wonder what he himself would do in the same situation. Would he stay true to who he was or do what was best for the family? He was still mulling it over when he heard a slight scratching sound at his door. Mice. He would have to remember to set out traps tomorrow. The sound came again, but this time followed by a quiet tap. He threw off the covers and switched on the lamp beside his bed. As he was the only male servant who still lived in, he had the men’s quarters to himself. Perhaps it was His Lordship needing to talk some more. Thomas opened the door only to find the housekeeper standing there with a glass in her hand. “Mrs. Fry?”

“I thought you might like some warm milk to help you sleep, Mr. Barrow.”

Thomas was uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

The woman slipped inside, setting the glass on his bedside table. “I often have trouble getting to sleep. I just lie there awake in my bed tossing and turning for hours.”

“Thank you, but you should go now.”

Instead, she moved closer to him, causing him to take a step back. “I wonder what we could do to help us relax.” She offered him a ghastly smile that Thomas supposed was meant to be seductive. When he didn’t respond, she added, “We’re both getting on, Mr. Barrow. We deserve to have a little fun.”

Thomas stepped backward again, this time feeling his back against the wall. The woman had him cornered.

“You are a very handsome man.” She suddenly pressed her lips to his, thrusting her tongue into his surprised mouth.

Gathering his wits, he spun about, took her by the shoulders and forced her into the corridor before shutting the door. Then shakily, he lowered himself to his bed, running his hands through his silver hair. Blimey, what a day!


	9. Chapter 9

The next morning, Mary found herself in the drawing room with her sister. It was the first chance they’d had to speak alone during the visit. “Where is everyone?” she asked.

“Henry and Bertie went off with George to watch Peter shoot. I don’t know where Capt. Bryant and the girls are.”

“I had a letter from Tom last week. He and Lucy are busy with the children and running Brampton. They seem happy.”

“We really must have them to stay at Brancaster sometime.”

The door opened softly, and Thomas stepped inside, clearing his throat discreetly.

“What is it, Barrow?” Mary inquired.

“I’m sorry to tell you that Mrs. Fry has gone, m’lady. She took all her things and left during the night.”

“Gone? Do you know why?”

“I think she felt—unsatisfied here,” he replied with an imperceptible twitch of his lips.

“Well, that’s just great,” Mary fumed. “A houseful of guests and no housekeeper.”

“Not to worry, m’lady. I’m sure we can manage the visit without Mrs. Fry. I’ll begin looking for her replacement straight away.”

“Thank you, Barrow.”

He bobbed his head and exited the room.

“That’s all I need. Caroline is furious at me for sending her away. She doesn’t want to leave Johnny.”

Edith’s expression became downcast. “Marigold is angry with me, too.”

“I hope it’s not about Caroline coming to stay.”

“No, it’s not that,” Edith assured her with a sad smile. “Yesterday, I told her the truth about who she is. I felt it was time.”

“Goodness! How did she take it?”

“Naturally, she was upset. It can’t be easy to learn after all these years that she’s really my daughter.”

“No,” Mary agreed. It still irritated her that she was the last family member to find out the truth about Marigold, but it reminded her of something else. “Did you hear Capt. Bryant say at dinner last night that his father was an army major?”

Edith looked puzzled. “So what?”

“Don’t you remember? During the last war, we had a Maj. Bryant recovering here. He had an affair with one of the housemaids, and she became pregnant. I don’t recall her name.”

“I _do_ remember now. She brought the baby into the dining room when the grandparents were lunching here. Are you saying—”

“I believe Capt. Bryant _is_ that baby. Matthew told me that she gave him up to be raised by his grandparents and the exchange took place at Crawley House. _That’s_ why it feels familiar to him. He really _was_ there before. It all fits,” she finished with a note of triumph befitting the best detectives of fiction.

“It certainly seems so,” Edith agreed. “Are you going to tell him what you suspect?”

Mary’s face clouded over. She was unused to grappling with moral dilemmas. “I’m not sure I have the right. His grandparents obviously didn’t want him to know the truth, and how would he feel to learn that he’s the illegitimate son of a servant? I’ll have to give it some thought.”

***

Charles spotted Marigold sitting on a bench in the shade of a towering cedar. “May I join you?”

She moved over to make room for him. “Where’s George?”

“I believe he took Peter shooting.”

“You didn’t want to join them?”

“I’ve seen enough shooting during the war to last me a lifetime,” he replied with a world-weary smile. He noticed that she looked pale. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” She let out a bitter laugh. “Isn’t that what people always say whether it’s true or not?” When he gave no answer, she continued, “I’m afraid I’ve had a bit of a shock. I’ve learned the circumstances of my birth.”

“You’ve found out who your parents were?”

“Yes.” She studied him intently. “Capt. Bryant, I feel I must confide in someone. Can I trust you with my secret?”

“I’d be honored.”

She began. “My Aunt Edith showed me my birth certificate. It seems that she’s really my mother.”

“What?” Charles was surprised at that.

“It was before she met Uncle Bertie. She was involved with another man who died, apparently. She placed me at Yew Tree Farm with the Drewe family until she could come up with a plan. That’s when she decided to make me her ‘ward’ and brought me here to be raised in the nursery with Sybbie and George.”

Charles proceeded carefully, not wishing to upset her further. “It sounds like she was in a tough spot.”

Marigold considered his words. “Yes, I suppose she was.”

The pair sat in silence for several moments, both mulling over the strange tale. Finally, Charles spoke. “I suppose there was nothing else she could do if she wanted to keep you.”

The girl became angry at that. “She could have acknowledged me as her daughter.”

Charles merely nodded, allowing her time to calm down. After a while, he added, “It’s difficult for an unwed mother and her child. People can be very cruel.”

“She could have gone to America or somewhere and said that her husband was killed in the war. No one would have questioned it.”

“A young woman raising a baby all alone in a foreign country, away from everyone she knows and loves?”

“But that’s not it. Don’t you see? She didn’t want to give up being ‘Lady Edith,’ the respected daughter of an earl and pillar of upper-class society, and how could she manage that with a bastard child? She chose her position over being a mother to me. That’s what I can’t get past.”

Charles knew he was risking her wrath by continuing. “I expect she did what she thought best at the time.”

Marigold turned on him accusingly. “You don’t understand because you know who your parents were,” she said before dissolving into tears.

***

Sybbie and Freddie were strolling the grounds of the Abbey. “I was wondering if you’d given any more thought to my proposal,” Freddie pressed her.

“It’s all I’ve thought about.”

“Does that mean you’re ready to give me your answer?”

“Not quite.” Seeing the look of disappointment on his face, she added, “I promise I won’t keep you waiting forever.”

Freddie stared out over the expanse of green to spy a couple seated on a bench. “Isn’t that Marigold over there with that Bryant chap? Is he interested in her, do you think?”

Sybbie laughed. “I certainly hope not, as he proposed to me.”

“What?”

“He asked me to marry him.”

“I hope you told him to go to the devil.”

“I haven’t told him anything yet.”

Freddie appeared dumbfounded. “You’re not seriously considering accepting him.”

Sybbie found herself becoming defensive. “Why not? He’s attractive and pleasant to be with. I think any woman would be lucky to marry him.”

“But who is he? Who are his people?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course, it does. You’re the granddaughter of an earl, after all.”

“And the daughter of a former chauffeur.” She threw back her head proudly. “My mother didn’t judge people by their money and social position, and neither do I.”

“I’m sorry, Sybbie. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sure he’s a decent sort, but you barely know him. He can’t possibly love you like I do.”

***

Thomas was pouring over the contents of the wine ledger when there came a knock on the door and Lady Mary stepped inside. He stood, removing the spectacles he had taken to wearing of late when he was alone. To his recollection, she had never set foot in his pantry in all his years as the butler. “M’lady! If this is about the housekeeper position—”

“No, it’s not that.” She seemed uncharacteristically ill at ease. “I was wondering if there are any records of the people who’ve worked here over the years.”

Only a lifetime of practice kept Thomas from expressing his surprise. “I have a ledger with all the employee information—names, positions, years of service here. Is that what you mean?”

“Yes, but what about earlier, during the last war?”

“We’d have to go back to Mr. Carson’s records for that.” He stepped over to an old book rack and located the ledger containing those years. He lay it open on his desk, unsure if he should inquire further. “If you could give me some idea … ”

“The person I’m looking for was a housemaid. She would have worked here until 1918 or so.”

Thomas consulted the book, rifling through the yellowed pages. “There was an Ethel Parks who left about that time. It says she was dismissed without a reference, but it doesn’t say why.”

“Yes, that’s her. Thank you, Barrow. That’s all I needed to know.”


	10. Chapter 10

There was a knock on Marigold’s bedroom door, and Bertie stuck his head in. “May I speak with you?”

Marigold was sitting on her bed reading. “Alright,” she replied warily. She closed her book and set it on the bedside table.

Bertie crossed the room and sat down beside her on the bed. “I know what Aunt Edith—that is—your mother told you. It must have come as quite a surprise.” When there was no response, he continued. “I still remember what a shock it was to me when I found out.”

She became curious. “But you married her anyway, even with a bastard child. Why?”

“I married her because I loved her. And you were a bonus.”

Marigold had always appreciated his kindness to her but never more than now. “You’re just saying that.”

“Not at all. How could I love the mother without loving her child? I think of you as my own daughter.”

The girl’s eyes filled with tears. “That’s so lovely.”

“Your mother cares for you so much, and she desperately wants your forgiveness.”

Marigold stared down at the floor. It was difficult to put her feelings into words. “I _was_ angry with her at first, but I don’t think I am anymore. I believe she did what she thought best at the time.”

Bertie looked at her in amazement. “What changed your mind?”

She laughed at his expression. “Not ‘what’ but who. I confided in Capt. Bryant, and he made me see that I was being unfair to her.”

“Then, let’s all give thanks for Capt. Bryant.”

***

That afternoon, Mary approached her sister. “I’ve decided that we should tell the Captain after tea.”

“ _We_ should tell him?”

“Well, you knew his father better than I did. We can start with that and take it from there.”

Edith looked uncertain. “You see how upset Marigold has been since finding out who she is. Are you sure you’re doing the right thing for him?”

Mary forced her voice to sound more confident than she really felt. “He deserves to know the truth.” She had struggled with her decision. He seemed to accept the fiction his grandparents had concocted years ago. Did she have the right to take that away from him now? 

Later after tea, as the others were dispersing, Mary stopped him. “Capt. Bryant, do stay and chat awhile.”

“Certainly, if you wish,” he agreed pleasantly.

“It’s just that my sister and I were talking earlier and realized we actually knew your father.”

“He stayed here years ago,” Edith added.

“My father stayed _here_?”

Mary explained. “I don’t know if George ever told you but during the last war Downton Abbey was an officers’ convalescent home.”

Charles paused to remember. “Yes, I think he may have mentioned it.”

“Well, Maj. Bryant was one of the men sent to us.”

He broke into an astonished smile. “How extraordinary. Did you get to know him while he was here?”

It was Edith's turn to reply. “Yes—a little. As I recall, he was very handsome and quite a favorite with all the nurses.”

“That sounds like him,” Charles chuckled. “My grandparents told me he was quite the ladies’ man. I suppose that stopped when he met my mother.”

Mary exchanged a troubled look with Edith. She was experiencing some misgivings, but having come this far, she was loath to stop. “During his stay, he became romantically involved with a young housemaid who was working here at the time. Her name was Ethel Parks. When their secret was discovered, she was dismissed.”

“Perhaps we’ve said enough, Mary,” Edith cautioned her.

But the young captain was adamant. “If there’s more to the story, I’d like to hear it.”

Mary searched his face carefully. “Would you? Even if the truth would alter everything you’ve grown up believing about yourself?”

“Now you really must tell me,” Charles insisted. “Nothing could be worse than my imaginings.”

“Very well, then,” Mary agreed uncertainly. “The housemaid found herself with child, but your father refused to acknowledge paternity.”

Charles’ facial expression grew angry. “How could he turn his back on his own child? What did the maid do? She couldn’t possibly care for herself and a baby with no job.”

“She was forced into prostitution.”

“My God!”

“After the Major was killed, your grandparents came to luncheon here. They wanted to see the room where he’d stayed and talk with those of us who knew him. Somehow Miss Parks found out about the visit and brought the baby into the dining room to confront them with their grandson. But your grandfather didn’t believe her story, and they abruptly left.”

Charles sat back on the sofa in stunned disbelief. “I was that baby, wasn’t I? That’s what you’re trying to tell me.”

“We believe so.”

“Of course, we can’t be sure,” Edith added hopefully.

“No. It must be true. It all fits.” He remained lost in thought for several moments. “My grandparents lied to me. My parents had no wartime marriage. I’m the product of my father’s affair with a servant.”

Edith was quick to defend them. “You can understand why they wanted to shield you from the truth. I’m sure they were only doing what they thought best for you.”

“How did they come to raise me?”

Mary picked up the story. “Your mother asked my late mother-in-law to intercede with your grandparents. The hand-over took place at Crawley House. That’s why it seems familiar to you. It’s where you said goodbye to your mother for the last time.”

Charles sat in silence for several minutes, a kaleidoscope of emotions playing across his face. Finally, he asked, “Did she have red hair?”

Mary and Edith exchanged a look of surprise. “As a matter of fact, she did,” Edith replied.

“Now I know why she was crying.”

***

Johnny was distracted as he served the pub patrons their supper. He couldn’t get Caroline’s words out of his head. _We could get married_. The idea of marriage had never crossed his mind except in the most abstract way. She had been brought up to think everything would turn out right in the end, but he was more practical. They were far too young to marry, but that was nothing compared to the wide discrepancy in their social classes. Her family would never accept him, baby or not, and his parents would be equally uncomfortable with the match. But the idea of her being gone all summer and possibly meeting another man made his stomach ache.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash from behind the bar. Johnny rushed over to find his father on the floor crumpled in a heap beside a broken bottle. “Dad!” He turned his father face up but saw that he was unresponsive. Having heard the commotion, Anna entered from the kitchen. Her face went white at the sight before her. “Ring for an ambulance,” Johnny shouted.

After decades in service, she obeyed without question, returning to wait with her son for the ambulance to arrive. She stroked her husband’s brow while the patrons discreetly filed out. After what seemed an eternity, but what was actually less than two minutes, the ambulance team arrived and carried John away on a stretcher. Johnny took his trembling mother’s arm as they followed. “He’ll be alright. He has to be.”

Anna made no reply.

***

Sybbie was working a late shift that day and was at the hospital when Bates was brought in followed by an ashen-faced Anna and Johnny. She gently held them back while he was placed in the examining room and the doctor hurried to his side. “There are chairs in Dr. Mitchell’s office,” she offered. “We can wait there.” Indeed, she was afraid Mrs. Bates might collapse at any moment.

“No. I won’t leave my husband,” Anna insisted shakily.

“The doctor will be in to speak with you as soon as he’s finished his examination.” Sybbie looked imploringly to Johnny for help.

He understood immediately. “We must get out of the way and let the doctor do his job.”

Anna allowed the young people to lead her to a hard-backed chair in the doctor’s office. “What happened?” Sybbie asked her softly.

“I-I wasn’t there. I heard the crash from the kitchen and came out to see what it was.”

Johnny picked up the narrative. “He was pouring a drink behind the bar when he suddenly fell to the floor.”

Sybbie nodded sympathetically. “Can I get you anything—water, tea?”

Anna didn’t seem to hear her. “What’s taking so long? Why haven’t we heard anything?”

Just then, a grim-looking Dr. Mitchell entered the room and pulled up a chair facing her, taking both her hands in his. He darted a quick glance at Sybbie before speaking. “It’s not good news, I’m afraid. Your husband is dead. There was nothing I could do.”

From somewhere deep inside her, Anna let out an unearthly cry that echoed throughout the hospital.


	11. Chapter 11

The following morning, Sybbie shared the sad news of Mr. Bates’ passing with the family at breakfast. “How terrible. I must send a note down to Anna,” Mary responded.

“Do you know when the funeral will be?” Edith asked. “We’ll all want to be there.”

“I’m not sure.”

“Who is Mr. Bates?” Peter asked, stuffing a sausage into his mouth.

“He was your grandfather’s valet for many years until he left to run the pub,” his mother explained.

Caroline leaped out of her chair.

“Where are you going?” Mary inquired.

“Into the village, of course. I have to be with Johnny.” She was ready to brook any opposition, but much to her surprise, none came.

“Yes. Please give him our sympathy,” her mother said.

The girl stepped out the front door and started down the gravel path to the village. She knew Johnny would be devastated by the loss. While he adored both his parents, he had been particularly close to his father. When she arrived at the pub, she found a sign on the door reading, CLOSED. Bob spotted her from inside and unlocked the door. “He’s upstairs, Miss.”

Caroline climbed the narrow stairs to the Bateses’ private quarters and knocked on the door. Johnny answered at once looking shocked and pale. She threw her arms around him. “I’m so terribly, terribly sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?”

He held her tight for several moments before speaking. “You’ve helped just by being here.”

“How is your mother?”

Johnny looked about as if noticing for the first time that she was absent. “I suppose she must still be in her room. It hit her pretty hard.”

Caroline nodded an understanding. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

“I’m not hungry,” Johnny replied automatically.

She ignored him and stepped into the tiny kitchen. She put the kettle on and immediately went about preparing toast and scrambled eggs.

“I never pictured you as a cook,” he observed with a wan smile.

“I’ve watched Mrs. Parker do it dozens of times. Will you lay the table, please?”

Anna suddenly appeared in her dressing gown, her face blotchy and her eyes red and swollen from crying. “I heard voices.” She then spied Caroline. “Oh! Miss Caroline.”

The girl gently led her to the table. “I made you breakfast.”

A stunned Anna sat while Caroline served her and her son. When she had gotten over her initial shock, she said, “Thank you, but you didn’t have to do this, Miss.”

“I wanted to. Everyone in my family is so sorry for your loss.”

Anna looked down at her plate, and her lower lip began to quiver. “That’s very kind of them.” She took a small bite of toast.

“It may have burned a little,” Caroline apologized.

The kitchen fell silent for several minutes as Johnny dutifully lifted eggs to his mouth while Anna sat staring at nothing. Finally, she gave voice to her thoughts. “I’ll have to meet with Rev. Fauth to fix the day of the funeral. Then I must go to Grassby's to bring them John’s black suit—the one I bought him for his birthday.”

Johnny put a hand over hers. “We’ll both go together.”

She looked up at him gratefully, managing a shaky smile.

Caroline cleared the table and did the washing up. She knew the two needed to speak in private. “I’ll leave you now, but if there's anything I can do, please ask.”

Anna seemed to have forgotten she was there. “Thank you for coming.”

Johnny walked her to the door. “I’ll talk to you later.”

She knew he was putting on a brave face but was just as distraught as his mother. Her heart went out to both of them.

***

After breakfast, Marigold brought a novel with her to her favorite spot outside on the bench. She was surprised to find Charles already seated there. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Actually, I was waiting here hoping you might come.”

She dropped down beside him. “Oh?”

“Your aunts—that is—your mother and your aunt shared some extraordinary news with me yesterday after tea.”

“Yes. I wondered what that was about.”

Charles repeated the story to a spellbound Marigold. When he finished, she asked, “Are you certain it’s true?”

“I think it must be. It explains why Crawley House seems so familiar and why my grandparents never spoke to me about my mother.”

“So what will you do now?”

“I’m going to find her and bring her to live with me when the war ends,” Charles replied determinedly. “They gave me her name, and a good detective should be able to track her down without too much trouble.”

Marigold hesitated. “What if she’s gone back to doing—what she was doing?”

“It doesn’t matter. Don’t you see? I need to make it up to her for ruining her life.”

“Your father ruined her life, not you. I’m sure she loved you very much and would have raised you if she could.”

“And I intend to love her just as much. She’s the only family I have left.”

Marigold looked at him with admiration. “You make me feel quite petty by comparison.” She rose. “I think I need to speak to my own mother now. Thank you, Captain Bryant.”

“Do you think you could call me Charles—or Charlie as George does?”

“Charlie—yes. It suits you, somehow.” She flashed him a quick smile before heading back to the house. She located her mother in the drawing room with Bertie and Lady Mary. Henry had gone to York to look in on his car business. “I was wondering if I might speak with you in private, Aunt Edith.”

The Marchioness rose uneasily. “We can talk in the library. We won’t be disturbed there.” They sat down across from each other on the facing sofas, both somewhat wary of the other.

Marigold began awkwardly. “I just wanted to tell you that I don’t blame you for the choices you made all those years ago. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d been in your situation, and I shouldn’t judge.”

“Do you mean it, darling? You’ve forgiven me?”

“You and Uncle Bertie have always been very good to me; no parents could have been kinder. That will have to be enough.”

Edith moved to sit beside her, wrapping her arms around her daughter. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too—Mama.”

Both women looked at each other and dissolved into tears. After several minutes, Edith pulled away, fighting to regain her composure. “I’ve been thinking, and I believe it’s time to turn over the magazine to you.”

“What?”

“Your father left it to me when he died, and I know he would want you to have it.”

“But what do I know about running a magazine?”

“As much as I did, I imagine. I’ll teach you everything I know, and you’ll learn the rest over time.”

“I don’t know what to say. Thank you so much.”

“It’ll make you a very wealthy woman.”

***

The telegram arrived just as the family was finishing their tea. A hallboy entered the library, handing a silver salver to Barrow who in turn held it out to George. “Telegram, m’lord.”

George opened the envelope and scanned its contents.

“Well, what does it say?” Mary asked him.

“It says that all leave has been canceled and everyone is to return to their duties by thirteen hundred hours tomorrow.”

“But you’ve only been here a few days. They can’t do that.”

“It’s the army, Mama. They can do what they want.”

“Something big must be afoot,” Charles observed sagely. “We’ll have to leave tonight or early in the morning.”

“Make it tomorrow,” Mary pleaded. “Let’s have one last dinner together before you go.”

“Then tomorrow it is,” George agreed.

The entire family gathered later in the dining room where dinner consisted of all of George’s favorite foods. Thomas had tipped off Daisy in time for her to alter the menu. The mood was overly exuberant as if everyone was determined to squeeze in as much merriment as they could before they were forced to part once again.

“We’ll miss you—both of you,” Edith remarked.

Charles cleared his throat awkwardly. “I want to thank you all for letting me stay in your home. I can’t remember enjoying myself as much as I have these past few days.”

“Then you must come back again soon,” Mary replied sincerely.

After dinner, Charles sought out Sybbie. “Would you take a walk with me?” She agreed and the couple set out on the path to the village. After several minutes of casual conversation, he couldn’t hold it in any longer. “I’m sure you know what I’m going to ask. Will you send me back to war a happy man?”

Sybbie shook her head. “I’m flattered by your proposal, Captain, but I suspect we’re very different people. While I’ve enjoyed getting to know you during your time here, I won’t be marrying you.”

“And you won’t change your mind?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Charles wasn’t surprised by her decision. “Rotten luck that Freddie chap beating me to the punch. I just hope he deserves you.”

She didn’t reply.

He suddenly realized with a start that they were standing outside Crawley House once again. He thought about telling her what he’d learned of his past but decided against it. It was time to let her go.


	12. Chapter 12

Barrow knocked softly on George’s door early the next morning. “Would you like me to pack for you, m’lord?”

“Already done,” George replied brightly, indicating the two leather cases.

“I’ll have one of the hallboys take them down directly.” But Thomas made no move to leave. Instead, he continued tentatively, “I’ve thought a great deal about what you told me, and I was wondering … ”

“Go on.”

Thomas felt his face reddening. “I know it’s impertinent to ask but you and Capt. Bryant—” His voice drifted off in embarrassment.

George broke into laughter. “Charlie and me? God, no. In fact, until last night, he’d rather set his sights on Sybbie.”

“Miss Sybbie?” Thomas’ eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“She ‘let him down gently.’ Isn’t that the phrase? I dare say he’ll find someone else before too long. That’s Charlie.”

“I see.” He was prepared to talk more, but perhaps the young Earl no longer wished to confide in him. “I’ll send up one of the hallboys for those cases, m’lord.”

As he was almost to the door, George spoke out to his retreating back. “I’ve thought and thought about it, Barrow, but I can’t see any way out. When this war is over, I must marry and produce an heir. It’s the right thing to do for Downton and the family.”

Thomas nodded an understanding.

They descended downstairs to the great hall where everyone was gathered to say their goodbyes. Caroline kissed her brother on the cheek, and Henry shook his hand. A tearful Mary implored him to stay safe. “Please be careful, my darling. Don’t be a hero.”

George smiled at her. “You say that every time I leave.”

“Just come back to us safe and sound, that’s all I ask.” She threw her arms around him and held him tight. She then took Charles aside. “I hope I did the right thing in telling you about your past.”

“I’m very grateful. I would never have known about my mother if it weren’t for you.”

“Well, that’s a relief. Please stay safe and come to see us again.”

She returned to her son, and Marigold took her place. “I just wanted to say thank you for being there for me these past few days. I hope you find your mother, and everything turns out well for you.”

“Thanks. I wish the same for you.”

“I'm going to be very busy. My mother is giving me the magazine.”

“Lucky girl.”

“It’s time for me to get on with my life,” she declared determinedly.

“I hope we’ll meet again sometime.”

“I hope so too, Charlie.”

Sybbie called out to the officers, “We have to leave now, or you’ll miss your train.” She had volunteered to drive them to the station. After a last round of goodbyes, they were gone.

***

Mr. Bates’ funeral was two days later. It was well attended by the villagers, and the residents of the Abbey, family and servants alike. Lady Mary had instructed the gardener to fill the church with white lilies which gave the service a pleasant perfume. After the burial, Johnny announced that everyone was invited back to the pub for a buffet lunch.

Mary approached Anna. “I hope you know how terribly sorry I am, how sorry we all are. My father always thought highly of Bates and mentioned him often in his final years.”

“Thank you, m’lady. That’s very kind,” she replied automatically before adding, “It was so nice of you to send the flowers. They were beautiful.”

“If there’s anything else we can do to help, anything at all, please let me know.”

Anna managed a weak smile.

Caroline had immediately sought out Johnny. “How are you—really?”

Johnny loosened his tie. “I’ll be better when this day is over.”

“Let’s get some food and take it outside.” They filled their plates and went around to the back of the building. As they sat on the step, an envelope fell from Johnny’s jacket pocket. Caroline picked it up, noticing it was sent from a newspaper in Leeds. “What’s this?” she inquired.

Johnny snatched it back from her and replaced it in his pocket. “It’s nothing.”

Caroline had never known him to be evasive. “What is it? Why won’t you tell me?”

“If you must know, it’s an offer from a newspaper to work for them. I sent out applications to all the papers in North Yorkshire along with a sample of my writing. This is the only one who answered. I met with them last week, and they must have liked me because I got this the next day.”

“That’s terrific news. Why didn’t you say?”

Johnny shrugged. “I knew you would tell me to take it.”

Caroline was confused. “Of course I would if it’s what you want.”

“You don’t understand. How could I leave my parents to manage things here on their own? And now with Dad gone, my mother will need me more than ever. She can’t run the pub alone.”

“No.” Caroline searched her mind for a solution. “Have you given them an answer?”

“I suppose I’ll have to soon.”

“Don’t tell them anything yet. Let me think on it.”

***

Several days later, Anna sat next to her son on the sofa as she had often done with her husband. “We need to talk.”

“Alright.”

She came straight to the point. “I know about the offer from the newspaper in Leeds.”

“How—” he started to ask, but there was really only one answer. “Caroline, of course.”

“Yes. She came to see me yesterday. Why didn’t _you_ tell me?”

“You have so much on your plate just now, and I didn’t want to add to your worries. She shouldn’t have burdened you with this.” His voice sounded slightly irritated.

Anna smiled sadly. Sometimes she saw so much of his father in him and loved him all the more for it.

“Don’t worry. I won’t run out on you. You can always count on me.”

“That brings me to the other subject I want to discuss. How would you feel if I sold the pub? Bob made me an offer, and it’s a good one.”

Johnny’s face showed his surprise. “Sell the pub? But it was always your dream to run your own place. I won’t let you give up on it now for my sake.”

Anna explained, “It was the dream of your father and me, and we accomplished it. Now it’s time for you to pursue _your_ dream of becoming a writer, and the newspaper will give you a good start. I want you to answer back today and tell them you accept.”

“But if you sold the pub, where would you live?”

“I’d stay on here in the village. Your Dad and I saved a little over the years, and I’ll have the money from the sale of the business. I’m sure Lady Mary can find me an empty cottage.”

“What would you do all day on your own?”

Anna’s face clouded over. That was a more difficult question to answer. She hated to be idle. “I can help out at the church, or tend a garden, or take up beekeeping.” The latter made them both laugh. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll find something to do. Now go write to that newspaper before they give the job to someone else.”

“Are you sure you’re alright with all of this?” Johnny asked uncertainly.

“Quite sure. I’m going down to Bakewell’s. I’ll be back soon.” She didn’t wish to debate him further.

On the way, she met up with Thomas who stopped to chat. “How are you doing since … ” He left the unfinished sentence dangling awkwardly.

Anna smiled, knowing he meant to be kind. “I’m doing as well as can be expected, thank you. Are you headed to Bakewell’s, too?

“Cigarettes,” he admitted ruefully.

“Then let’s walk together. So what’s the latest from the Abbey? How is that new housekeeper working out?”

***

As Johnny would be moving away shortly, Caroline was allowed to remain behind when the Hexhams set off for Northumberland. The visit to her childhood home had proved much more eventful than Edith could have imagined. But she felt lighter than she had in years. Marigold knew the truth now and had been able to forgive her. Edith was looking forward to building a new relationship with her daughter based on openness and honesty. She was also happy to be turning over the reins of the magazine. It was the right thing to do, and she felt sure Michael would have approved. It would ensure that whatever happened in the future, Marigold would be taken care of and not have to depend on her half-brother’s generosity.

She gazed at her son, still a boy but soon to be a man. His future had been mapped out for him from birth. One day, he would take his father’s place as the Marquess of Hexham, and Brancaster Castle would be his. Edith hoped that day wouldn’t come for many, many years. Before then, Peter would attend university and perhaps even marry and have a family of his own. At that moment, Bertie turned to her and smiled, patting her thigh affectionately. She returned the smile. She considered herself a very lucky woman indeed.


	13. Epilogue

**ONE YEAR LATER**

Thomas entered the servants’ hall and sat down to his breakfast. He uttered a greeting to the housekeeper who rewarded him with a sunny smile. Once again, he congratulated himself on the success of his scheme. The idea had first come to him nearly a year ago when he heard the Grantham Arms had been sold. He had immediately set off for the village and soon found himself climbing the stairs to the Bates family’s private quarters.

Anna answered the door, the surprise of seeing him evident in her voice. “Mr. Barrow?”

“Can I please speak with you? I promise it won’t take long.”

She took a step back to allow him to enter. “You’ll have to excuse the mess. I’ve just been going through John’s things, seeing what I can donate to charity.” She cleared a spot on the sofa for him to sit and arranged herself comfortably in a nearby rocking chair. “Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you. I can’t stay. I just heard you sold the pub, and I wanted to know if you’ve made any plans yet.”

“I spoke to Lady Mary, and she said she’ll look me out an empty cottage in the village. It will be quiet with John gone and Johnny moving to Leeds, but I guess that’s what happens when one grows older.” Her sad expression belied her brave words.

“Well, I’ve got a better idea. How would you like to come back to work?”

“What?”

“As you know, we’re short a housekeeper, and I can’t think of anyone more qualified for the job than you.” In his opinion, a little flattery never hurt.

She paused to consider his words. “Would I live in?”

“The women’s quarters are empty now, so you’d have it all to yourself.” He stood. “Will you think about it, anyway?”

She followed him to the door. “I will, and I’ll let you know when I have my answer. Thank you, Mr. Barrow.”

That was nearly a year ago, and his plan had worked well. Anna flourished in her position as the housekeeper, and in time, became quite like her old self again.

***

Charles checked his watch. It was one minute later than the last time he’d looked. What if she’d changed her mind? What if she wasn’t coming? He had chosen a public park for their first meeting. He thought it would make things less awkward, somehow. After the war, the detective he hired had tracked her down easily. To Charles’ amazement, she was living and working in a house in Cheadle, not far from his own. He had probably passed her on the street many times over the years without realizing it. He looked about him once more and spotted a middle-aged woman watching him from a distance. She was very simply dressed, and the vivid red hair he remembered was dulled with gray, but he knew immediately that it was she. “Miss Parks,” he called out to her.

She turned and began walking rapidly in the opposite direction.

“Please wait,” he pleaded while running to catch up.

She stopped but did not turn around.

He moved around to face her. “You are Ethel Parks, aren’t you?”

She merely nodded, keeping her head lowered.

“I’m your son, Charlie. Please, won’t you talk with me?”

She allowed herself to be led to a nearby bench. When they were seated, it was Ethel who spoke first. “How did you find out about me? The letter didn’t say.”

“I was staying at Downton Abbey with my friend George—that is—Lord Grantham. His mother recognized my name and put the pieces together.”

“Lady Mary.”

“That’s right. I’d been told by my grandparents that my father had a war-time marriage to a woman who died of the Spanish Flu. But when I found out the truth, I knew I had to find you.”

“It must have come as quite a surprise after all these years.”

“Yes,” Charles admitted, “but a happy one.”

Ethel smiled vacantly. “I only took the job with the Watsons to be near you. I used to see you in the village sometimes when you were a little boy and later when you would come home from school at term time. I never spoke to you, but I was so proud. You had grown into a proper young gentleman.”

He studied her hands, so red and coarse from decades of cooking and scrubbing. “I want you to live with me, so we can get to know each other again.”

She stared at him in shock. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“You’ve spent your life taking care of other people. Now it’s time someone looked after you.”

Her face clouded over. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew the things I’ve done.”

“If you’re referring to your time as a prostitute, I know all about it. It sickens me to think that you were forced to sell yourself to save us from starving.”

“I did everything I could to keep you, but it wasn’t enough. So in the end, I gave you up to your grandparents to raise. With them, you’d have everything you wished for and be whatever you wanted to be.”

“I understand that, and I don’t blame you for any of it. My grandparents were very good to me, and it’s true I enjoyed a privileged upbringing. You have nothing to regret on that score. We can’t change the past, but we can be a family again moving forward. Won’t you come to live with me?”

“If you’re sure it’s what you really want.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

***

“Do you have everything you need for tonight, Barrow?” Mary asked, nervously scanning the long dining table. “It all has to be perfect for Lord Grantham’s engagement party.”

“I believe we’re ready, m’lady. The champagne you ordered arrived yesterday, and the extra kitchen helpers are hard at work downstairs with Mrs. Parker.”

Mary nodded absently. “Good. Good. We want the Dalrymples to feel fortunate in their daughter’s choice of husband.”

Thomas bobbed his head and left the room. He climbed the back stairs to the gallery and knocked on George’s door.

The young earl was standing before the mirror adjusting his tie. “Why can’t I get this bloody thing straight?” he groused in frustration.

“If I may, m’lord.” Thomas smiled indulgently as he redid the tie. “Your guests will be arriving shortly.”

“So it’s too late to duck out now.”

“Miss Emily will make you a good wife.”

“I believe so. We’ve known each other all our lives, and she’s always been fond of me. The village will adore her, and she’ll be wonderful with our children. Even my mother approves of the match, so it seems everyone is happy.”

“What about you, m’lord? Are you happy?”

“We both know that real happiness isn’t possible for men like us, but with any luck, I’ll be happy enough,” he replied with a sigh of resignation.

***

Caroline stepped off the train in Leeds, immediately spotting Johnny hurrying toward her. He pulled her against him and greeted her with a tender kiss. After retrieving her luggage, the couple climbed into Johnny’s ancient truck and set out for the hotel. “Don’t forget to put on the ring,” Johnny reminded her.

Caroline pulled a thin gold band from her purse and slipped it on. “I wonder who this belonged to and why they decided to pawn it.”

“Well, it’s being put to good use now, anyway.”

“Why do the lodgers at your boarding house and the people at the paper assume we’re married?”

Johnny looked uncomfortable. “Maybe because that’s what I told them. I thought it would make things simpler when you came to stay. They all want to meet you, by the way.”

Caroline became curious. “Where do they think I am when I’m not here?”

“I said your father is ill, and there’s no one but you to care for him.”

They checked into their room, signing the registry as Mr. and Mrs. John Bates. Lady Mary had reluctantly agreed to the arrangement only when Caroline threatened to live with him unmarried. Mary hated it but knew she couldn’t prevent it. She had lost control of her headstrong daughter.

“I have good news,” Johnny spoke as he watched her unpack. “I got a promotion at the paper. It comes with a small raise.”

“That’s wonderful, darling. We’ll need it now that we’re getting married.”

“You know we can’t get married yet. Your parents won’t agree to it.”

“They will when I tell them _my_ news. It seems we’re going to have a baby.”

Johnny’s mouth fell open. Finally, he asked, “A baby? Are you sure?”

“Dr. Mitchell confirmed it.” She studied him carefully. “I know this isn’t what we planned, but I hope you’re happy about it.”

A broad smile spread slowly over his face. “Of course, I’m happy. We’re going to be a family.”

***

Marigold studied the mock-up of that month’s magazine, making occasional notes in the margins. She buzzed for her assistant who promptly appeared in her office. “Yes, Miss Crawley?”

“Please see that these are returned with the changes I made.”

“Of course.” The young woman took the pages from her. “Is there anything else?”

“No, thank you, Nora. I’m leaving now, and I’ll be away for the weekend. My cousin is being married tomorrow.” Marigold reached for her handbag and exited the office. As the day was fine, she decided to walk back to her flat, scanning the shop windows as she went. No one seeing her now would take her for the gloomy, retiring girl of a year ago. Since taking over the magazine, she had blossomed into a confident, capable young businesswoman with an active London life.

She soon arrived at her flat where her bags were already packed and waiting. The invitation was sitting nearby, and with a slight smile, she slipped it into her purse.

***

The houseguests had begun arriving early that day. The Hexhams and young Peter were first that morning, while Tom and Lucy Branson and their children came just after lunch. Marigold had rung to say that she would be on the late train from London. Thomas wondered how they’d manage such a large party with so little staff. He had enlisted the hallboys to act as footmen for the weekend and prayed nothing would go wrong. Daisy and her assistant were downstairs feverishly preparing that night’s upstairs dinner. The extra kitchen workers wouldn’t arrive until early the following morning to help with the wedding food.

Several members of the family congregated in the church later that afternoon to watch the rehearsal. While they were there, orchids from the Abbey’s greenhouses were delivered and set in place on the altar. Nothing must be left to chance.

The next morning dawned dry and sunny and everyone at the Abbey breathed a sigh of relief, taking it as an omen of happy times to come. The little village church was filled to capacity as the bride, looking remarkably beautiful, walked down the aisle on the arm of her father. From the altar, the groom looked on adoringly. When she reached his side, Sybbie took his hand and squeezed, and Alistair Mitchell squeezed back.


End file.
